


Watched

by cuntoid



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink, F/M, Forced Orgasms, Molestation, Stalking, Voyeurism, dubcon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Commission for a little pervert that would like to remain anonymous. An upsetting encounter in an alleyway leaves you shaken (and maybe a little stirred).





	Watched

**Author's Note:**

> Notable triggers: stalking, dubcon/noncon, sexual assault, daddy kink, possessiveness, breeding kink. Stalker Rick plays for keeps.

Walking along the side streets and ducking into alleyways, you feel safe. Sure of your path. It's broad daylight and you're walking home, enjoying the busy sounds of nearby traffic and the occasional snippet of conversation as people filter over sidewalks like a stream. You feel content and centered, enjoying life around you as you crash your shoulder against someone else's. It knocks you to the side and when you recover, you see a lot of people it could have been - a woman with her child, a tall older man, a guy about your age - it's hard to tell. Nobody stops with you to apologize or really even acknowledge that it happened. 

You make it home just fine, if a little distracted. It seems that you're distracted all the time lately - misplacing things, knocking into people almost every day in the crowd. Forgetting to close your window at night and waking up shivering, lit only by splashes of moonlight. So many other little things that slip your mind during the day and add up in the restless haze just before you fall asleep, inviting more anxiety to your troubled dreams. You wake up feeling out of it and repeat your days, a monotonous grind that feels a little boring but not wholly unpleasant.

For some inexplicable reason, you keep losing clothing. It's just another thing to attribute to your poor sleeping habits, kicking your panties off or stripping your bra before bed and then waking up too fucking bleary to remember where you left it. Cute pairs go missing, an alarming number of them gone within weeks. You make a habit now of going out occasionally without underwear, just to keep yourself from flinging them into the abyss that apparently exists in your bedroom.

On a day when the sunshine is too irresistible, you slip into a sundress and glide around the city sans panties. There's no real destination in mind - only the pull to have a little adventure, to window-shop and watch the throngs of people filtering through. Soft breezes lick around your bare legs and whisper past the hem of your dress.

A rough tug on your arm rips you from your reverie and into an alleyway, one sharp breath coming through your lips before your throat closes and your whole body goes limp. You go from admiring the weather to someone shoving you up against a wall, one arm twisted behind you and the other clutching at the crumbling brick for purchase. He grunts as he pauses, assessing your willingness to comply. 

"Good girl," he mumbles. He wedges a thigh between yours as you feel him skim the nape of your neck with his nose, just enough to tickle while he inhales your scent. When he moans, the rumble in his chest vibrates against your back. Every cell in your body rings with alarm, the urge to fight or fly extinguished and replaced by paralyzing fear, hyper-sensitive to his every move. He runs a hand down your side and over your thigh. A part of you has already resigned yourself to this - the scratchy feel of his fingertips as they scrape across your inner thighs and go up, up, teasing, searching.

"O-Okay, drop your p-"

He brushes your bare cunt beneath your dress and trails off mid-sentence, gravelly voice stuttering to a stop. He freezes for a moment, as if shocked to feel no barrier, before stroking the seam of your pussy and cupping you, the warmth of his hand pressed to the most delicate part of your body. Your mouth feels metallic and you think weakly that you can taste your own fear. You're positive he can feel your pulse right up against his palm. 

"No panties, huh?" This is the only precursor to two of his fingers pushing into your cunt, your muscles clamping down on the intrusion and making you whimper. "Fuck, baby, y-you're tight. I'm disappointed about the panties, b-but _this_... well. This makes up for it."

He pumps his fingers while you do your best to keep from crying or shaking too hard, lest you piss him off. He could be capable of anything. The worst part is the instinctive way he curves his digits to stroke the sensitive, pulsing flesh inside, leaving you squeezing down around his ministrations before you can think to resist. 

"You like being scared, huh? You love it when I touch you? I - trust me, I know how you like it. I can make you cum if you want. You want that?"

He drags them out to circle lazily around your clit and something clicks into place. The instinct to fight or fly surges back up to fill your spine and, without second thought, you ball your free hand and swing a fist behind you - it hits home between his thighs. For a sickening moment you feel how hard he is, and then he's grunting, staggering back. You don't look behind you before sprinting out of the alleyway and back the way you came. Your heart pounds against your ribcage with more adrenaline than you know what to do with, compelling you to take a long way home and circle around, zig-zagging to misdirect anyone following you home. Just in case.

Once behind your locked door, you shake and go through the motions of undressing to shower. Your skin crawls while you adjust the heat and step into the water, clothing left strewn in the hall and eyes closed under the pounding spray. You're still slick. The sick pull in your belly is easier to digest with your eyes closed, safely in your bathroom where nobody can see you, nobody knows that you're pushing a hand between your legs. There's horror and some disappointment when your fingers don't fit the same way.

You cum twice before even washing your hair.

.

Though it takes a while to stop feeling so uneasy, you take the same routes and visit the same places. You don't want to sacrifice anything to that _incident_ , and aside from the occasional guilty masturbatory fantasy, you compartmentalize it neatly away and move on. You fill your days with things that occupy your mind: errands, projects, friends. The only problems that persist are your penchant for losing panties and a paranoid flutter in the back of your mind that feels like eyes, watching, following you home. Sometimes you feel it _inside_ your home. You start peeling back the shower curtain more often, peeking out the window. You pretend the fear doesn't get you off when you're pleasuring yourself.

As if you aren't reckless enough inside your own head, you go out of your way to visit the alley. You duck in there sometimes and lean up against the wall, heart pounding, pressing your thighs together and thinking about fingers searching between them. When you feel eyes burning over your body, dissecting you open with their hot glare, you can't tell if it's a product of your own mind or not. All you know is that you have to get home to take care of yourself before it consumes you.

The hurry home this time is a hot blur of adrenaline and paranoia. With the light of day fading, everything becomes a threat. The only thing that eases this is the metallic clink of your lock after you make it back home and safely inside. The shower is all that's on your mind - you'll just get off really quick and wash your shame down the drain, a real one-stop shop. The hot spray is comforting, smoothing the knots in your muscles in preparation for the tension you're about to put them through again. A quick feel between your legs confirms that you're embarrassingly wet, closing your eyes as you tease your clit and lean back against the wall. 

"Y-You just couldn't help yourself, huh?"

The unexpected voice steals a gasp from you before your eyes snap open. You know immediately that this is the man from the alley; any lingering doubt is swept away as he pulls the curtain aside and looks down at you. He's taller than you'd initially thought, and much older. Lines trace along the finely structured bones of his face, highlighting his intense, lidded stare, his mouth. Beyond smirking lips you see teeth that are pointed. He takes a step closer and bites his lip, caressing your wet skin with his eyes. It's like he's taking you apart, deciding which cut he prefers, what he's going to do with the rest of you. 

"I see you, you know. Visiting the spot - _our_ spot. Guess w-we're both getting tired of the chase. Wet panties don't cut it anymore, huh?"

"What...?" You're shocked that you can make a sound at all, much less speak words. It comes out in a pathetic whisper, a ghost of a question that widens his sharkish grin and convinces him to bridge the gap between you and step into the tub. 

"Are - are you _really_ so shocked? All those missing panties, what, they just - they just disappeared?" He laughs and hisses through his teeth, tracing a gentle line across your collarbones with a finger. "You're not that stupid. Not _m-my_ little girl."

You push him - your palms make contact with his chest before you process what you're doing, and it's a repeat of that blind adrenaline from the alley. He grabs you by the waist and digs his fingers into your flesh like he means to strip you of it, stumbling back over the edge of the tub and swinging you around to save his balance. The arc around him is slow enough to contemplate your grave mistake and what it might cost you, toes slipping across the slick floor before you slam into the edge of the bathroom counter. Your hip absorbs the blow, pain exploding like hot shards as it cuts through muscle and bone and nests even into the marrow. Pain is everywhere - it's in your hip, where he holds you by the ribs, it's in the foggy pounding in your head. It's bright and fresh in your knuckles as you rear your fist back and punch him in the nose. 

Blood spurts over your fingers and makes tiny, delicate pattering sounds as it spatters over the porcelain of the sink, dotting your reflection in the mirror. Glancing into it feels like you're looking at a stranger - that can't be you, knuckles already beginning to swell as you wind back for another blow, eyes wide in a feral panic you've never seen before. 

Time speeds up and you recoil from your second punch to dart out of the bathroom. _Your phone._ You need your phone. Its location hides in your recent memories as if willing your destruction, eluding you as you ignore the cold air rushing over your wet skin, studded with gooseflesh. 

Your efforts don't matter; he chases you only as far as the living room before tackling you to the ground, mere feet away from your phone. It sits silently on the edge of a table. Your stomach drops and he rolls you to your back, chest heaving as he catches his breath. A gash decorates the bridge of his nose, threads of blood leading down the swollen, purpling organ. Bruises bloom around the dark corners of his eyes, spreading steadily over his nose as thick blood drips over his curled lip and bared teeth. He licks a layer of gore from their delicate points and hums. You lie beneath his body, caged against the floor with his fingers curling too tightly around your wrists. 

"I-It's okay," he murmurs. His pupils eat into the bloodshot whites, twin voids threatening to suck you into their orbit. "I like the struggle. Makes it even better when you finally give in. Which, uh... I don't think I'll have to wait much longer. You were probably soaked before y-you even hit the fucking shower."

He transfers both of your wrists to one big hand and runs the flat of his free hand down the side of your face, fingertips tickling in its wake, all the way down your throat and chest until he palms your breast. He moans as he fondles you, pinching your nipple until it aches. He gives you a look as though you two are sharing some deep, dark secret before lowering his head - his breath is hot against your skin. He alternates between broad licks and teasing with his teeth, nibbling so lightly that you find yourself arching into it, offering yourself up without hesitation. Shame weighs you flat against the floor only for his clever mouth to tease you into rising once more and swallowing the shaky whimpers stuck in your throat.

"Th-that's my girl. Beautiful. Come - come up for Daddy, _just like that,_ fuck. I know what you need. I do this to you, I - _Christ_ , I make you so fuckin wet -"

One long finger pushes into your cunt. He follows it quickly with another, stretching you open without warning, without any preparation, and you take it as some kind of omen. And even though his blood drips down over your chest, even though you aren't sure if you're going to live through the day or not, you contract on his fingers. He curves them to nudge into a plush bundle of nerves, each stroke filling you with static and heat and pressure. It never feels this good when you do it yourself. 

He fastens his teeth once more to your chest, biting down with more purpose and making sure to suck at the wounds until you beg for him to stop. You scoot away from his inquiring fingers in the haze of overstimulation; he fucks a third finger into you and moans against his handiwork, all those raw pinpoints in your flesh smeared with both of your blood.

"Do you - does it feel good, b-baby, does Daddy make you feel good? You can't stop squeezing my fingers, I-I-I must be doing _something_ right. I've watched you enough times to know what to do. Mm, that's right - I'm always watching. Late at night, lying on your back while you rub your wet little pussy, just f-for me."

He pulls both hands away, rolling up on the balls of his feet and rising gracefully to tower over your unrestrained body. Time stops with his hands on his belt, paused to see what you'll do. You barely breathe. The moment drags on with your eyes fixed to each other, unwilling to break contact until he smirks and looks down to watch his fingers as he unbuckles, silently daring you to make a move. It's probably your last shot; fear still paralyzes your muscles somewhere underneath all the traitorous, persistent heat, holding you in its grip as you chance a look around. How much of you is truly hoping for escape and how much is just playing into his game is up for debate. 

This fleeting window of opportunity starts closing as he pulls at the delicate pin of his buckle, so you roll to your belly and lunge forward, praying to gods that don't exist that you can at least grab your phone, maybe run long enough to call the cops. You barely lift up to your hands and knees before he grabs you by the hips and yanks you back into the safety of his long, powerful limbs. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and then the back of your neck until you're compliant.

"You tried, little one, y-you tried. You did good," he coos, laughing. His cock nestles up against your cunt, probing between the aching, slicked lips to where you're becoming a fucking inferno. Despite everything, even the looming possibility of death, of torture, of anything this man might be capable of, in the face of your destruction, you loosen under his hand as he shoves your cheek against the carpet. You assist him in positioning your hips, wiggling back against the fat, slippery head of his cock to the sigh of his approval. 

"W-Wish I... oh, I wish I'd have tasted you," he whispers. "N-n... no worries there. I have all the time in the world for - for that." The tremor in his voice forces you to clench down on nothing. Tears drip down over your nose and across your cheek, shivering down your skin with each sniffle and gasp and moan, stealing shamefully through your parted lips without your assent.

A whine catches in his throat and there's an audible swallow before he rolls his hips and works to fill you. He inches tenderly inside, soothing his fingers through your hair and whispering down against your spine between kisses as he guides himself to the root. It's painful - he nudges up against your cervix, testing bucks and grinds at the expense of your pleasure.

"That's it. Take my cock, b-baby, my - my good little girl. Finally giving in to me, huh? Letting Daddy take over?" He picks a rhythm that drags his cock over nerves that barely get stimulation, stretching you open to him as he digs his fingers into your waist. "My good girl. _All mine_. You - you belong to me now. I own every inch of your sweet little body, this tight pussy - all of it."

Light explodes behind your eyes as he growls and fucks violently into you. Each wet slap rings in your ears and drowns out the urge to scream - everything he does is calculated. Everything is practiced, designed just for you to fall apart as he sees fit. You feel him molding you. You lift your head and crane your throat up for him when he reaches for access, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing. 

Your living room barely exists. All that makes sense anymore is both surviving this encounter and finding a way to cum. Your shoulders ache, pulse felt in every bruise he'd planted along the slope of your neck. The lack of air and the sound of his grunting sparks a hot little swell of pleasure deep in your body, just as the edges of your vision go murky and you stop trying so hard to breathe. He releases you and forces his cock balls-deep, holding it there and flexing up against your cervix until you're begging him to stop between sputtering coughs. Squirming affords you little relief under his iron grip. 

"Mmmmm, you - you feel a little too close, kitten. I decide when and _if_ you cum. Don't forget that. You won't cum until I fucking tell you to, b-baby, be good for me and I won't have to hurt you." 

He takes up a slower rhythm that makes every frayed nerve light up with the need to release. He chokes you again to the point of fuzziness, when you feel outside of your own body and the room glitches out of focus. That fetal sort of limbo where you feel everything secondhand, floating in a bright, numb space beyond breath, where your orgasm again threatens to tear a hole through your belly before he eases up yet again. You rush back into focus with his long, tortured moans, his praise.

"Good girl, good girl, keep it together for me, that's - you're doing so well, s-sweetie. Fuck. Fuck, I'm gunna fill you up. I'm going to fill your tight little pussy with my cum, okay? Because it's mine, and I want to put a baby inside of you. My baby."

" _Oh my God._ "

"R- it, it's _Rick_ , actually, but you can call me _Daddy_. Mm _ffuuuck,_ I can't wait to shoot my cum inside of you, f-finally. My little cumslut, my - my _good little girl_ , so wet for my fat fucking cock, huh?"

It rips through you without warning. Suddenly every stretch of trembling, slick muscle contracts down on Rick as he forces you open over and over again, holding nothing back as you cum hard for him. He wrenches you by the hair to better reach your cheeks, eagerly licking the tears away and whispering feverishly about what a good girl you are, how well you please him.

" _Good girl, th-that's right, baby_. Cum for me, only me. I knew you'd love this. I-I knew you just needed me to show you, to - _shit_ \- _fuh-uuuck_ , are you ready? You want Daddy's cum deep inside, baby? Tell me, tell me what my good little girl wants."

Whatever comes out of your mouth is beyond your comprehension - all you can feel is the clamp and release of your body. All that exists is you and Rick, this immovable force that milks every bit of pleasure from you, hollowing you out and filling you with his own sticky, cloying darkness. He growls and bites down on the side of your throat one last time, dick jerking inside of you with the last of his desperate, stuttering thrusts. 

The time you take to come back to earth stretches toward some unseen horizon; the both of you shake and pant and for a moment you forget that this was something you never wanted. He hums contentedly, rolling you so that you lie on your side, held close to his body as he curls around you. He reaches between your thighs and cups a hand gingerly against your cunt.

"Gotta keep it in. You did so good," he whispers. It's hard not to lean into him as he peppers your temple with tiny kisses and snuggles close, tender now where he was so rough before. He whispers praise for you, your pussy, your body. How beautiful and soft you are, absently running his fingers down the violin curve of your waist and hip. 

"Are... are you -"

"Sshh, baby doll, just _relax._ Loosen up with me while we make sure it takes." 

He slides his big hand over your belly and you can feel his smile ghost behind your shoulder-blade before he soothes a particularly awful bite mark with his tongue. Settling against his body feels good, so you put everything on hold and rest your eyes, lulled by the softness of his hands and the feeling of his breath in your hair. 

"I've got you now, s-sweet thing. You are _never_ going to leave me."


End file.
